


The Way We Touch

by Second_Sadie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Second_Sadie/pseuds/Second_Sadie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of one-shots: #1 In which Felicity's only wish is for Oliver to take a chill pill; #2 In which Felicity just wants to do it with the lights on; #3 In which Felicity is insecure; #4 In which Felicity feels like she can tackle the salmon ladder; #5 In which Felicity gets a headache and Oliver's rockin' body is the cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Morning Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! You might have seen this already over at FFNet. I am posting it here because a reviewer requested it, and I thought "sure, why not, I'm procrastinating anyway". Unfortunately this reviewer did not sign in so I couldn't reply to the review, but Carla, if you're reading this, this is for you! :)
> 
> The game plan for this post is for it to be a collection of the one-shots I happen to think up. There are no plans to expand further on any one story, nor are the stories meant to be related. I consider each one-shot to be unrelated, but they could be interpreted differently if it floats your boat.
> 
> The inspiration for this one-shot comes from WE ARE TWIN’s “The Way We Touch”. Granted, the beat of the song doesn’t really give off an Arrow vibe, but I felt the lyrics could relate to Olicity all the same. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own CW’s Arrow or WE ARE TWIN’s “The Way We Touch”.

It’s moments like these that she wishes she could take him away, far away from Starling City and just force him to _relax_. And then it’s immediately after that wish that she would think _where could I possibly take him?_ Beaches were out, as far as she knew, because how could you ever associate “fun in the sun” with the ocean after spending 5 torturous years under that totally not fun sun, surrounded by endless ocean? And hiking was probably out for the same nightmare-inducing reason. Maybe a carnival? He would totally rank “Hercules” at the High Striker game. And of course win every stuffed animal for her at all the game booths with his ridiculous aim. And she would drag him onto all the rides despite his protests (even though she knows he would secretly love the tilt-a-whirl) and they would stuff themselves silly with cotton candy and corn dogs… or maybe she would stuff herself silly, since he’s a bit particular, but she’s sure she can convince him to try a bite or two of her cotton candy…

Uh oh, he just sighed again for the seventh time in twenty minutes. He’s pacing so much behind her that _she’s_ starting to sweat. She knows these moments are tough for him, when he’s been trying to take down the bad guy for an extended period of time (meaning a week in Oliver Time, because somehow his vigilante biological clock is set for 48 hours and God help both friend and foe when he hasn’t been able to shoot an arrow at someone’s leg in two days). How often she’s fantasized about grabbing his face between her hands, stare solemnly into his deep blue gaze, and say “CHILLAX.”

She won’t do that for two reasons: 1) Oliver most likely doesn’t even know what “chillax” means (she keeps sending him the word of the day from urban dictionary’s website in hopes that he’ll get at least one or two of her pop culture references); and 2) he’d probably just end up narrowing his eyes slightly and reply with “Felicity”, but not in the deep growly way she likes. More like in his uber-eerie-calm-before-the-storm voice that lets her know he’s about to either break both sparring dummies in half or decide not to use the salmon ladder again in her presence if she doesn’t find something with her computer magic.

And she certainly doesn’t want that.

So she keeps her hands to herself, her mouth shut, and her eyes on the screen, hoping one of her searches will turn up something and that Oliver doesn’t break the headrest of her chair from gripping it too hard.

It’s not that he doesn’t know how to relax… okay, well, maybe he doesn’t, not fully anyway. He’s been spending the night pretty regularly at her place for three months now, and they would be on the couch watching TV, his head resting on her lap, seemingly at ease, when _CRASH!_ Oliver had bolted upright into a fighting stance, holding a knife he pulled out from who knows where, looking for an assailant. Felicity has to tell him three times that it was only the dishes in the sink that had fallen over, and even then he wouldn’t relax until he’d done a perimeter sweep of her apartment.

Now it’s Felicity’s turn to sigh. She knows he has many burdens to bear (and she knows she doesn’t lighten the load by getting kidnapped or held hostage occasionally). She knows that what he does, what _they_ do, is powerfully more important than _relaxing_ , and she’s surprised she’s even able to get in four hours of sleep some nights. But she just wishes he wasn’t so hard on himself when things don’t go according to plan. In all likelihood, this “give me all the guilt, I can handle it; let’s add on yours as well, shall we?” mentality was developed during his time on the island, and she only hopes that the guilt is alleviated little by little with every bad guy they take down. But let’s face it, even if they do get rid of all the evil-doers of the world, he’d still feel like it’s never enough.

It’s when she sees those moments, those moments of “I need to do something but I feel so helpless” (okay, okay, Oliver probably wouldn’t use the word “helpless”) that she wants to take him away from it all and protect him from the big bad like he’s protected her (so, so many times) and just love him.

Now that she thinks about it, the only time Oliver really shuts out the ugly is when they’re intimate. She still wouldn’t call it relaxing because he gets so… focused… quite focused. Much like the way he plays two parts in life--one as the billionaire everyone sees and one as the fighter only she and Digg know--Oliver has two distinct ways of making love… Okay, wait, not that they only do it two ways, they do it many ways…

She can feel herself blushing and hopes to goodness Oliver doesn’t notice. She wouldn’t want to explain why she’s getting so flushed when tracking down a serial arsonist… 

But for example: at night when they’re together, Oliver is just coming down from his vigilante high, so his adrenaline is off the charts. They work off his energy in the most delicious ways, and he’s rough and fast and hard and perfect, staring into her eyes like she’s the only thing anchoring him to this world and don’t let go, not yet, not yet, not yet. And afterwards when he holds her she knows he drifts in and out of sleep, never quite falling deep asleep, but enough that he doesn’t have nightmares and she considers that a win.

But come morning, his lovemaking is gentler, like the sunlight has the ability to transform him from intense and unrelenting Arrow to tender and comfortable-in-his-own-skin Oliver. In the morning light he’s teasing and playful because the very first time he woke her up in the morning with his head between her thighs, she wouldn’t stop blushing for a good thirty minutes afterwards, so she now has a feeling he gets a kick out of how long she’ll stay red. She’s even pretty sure one time he purposely had Digg bring over breakfast for an impromptu Team Arrow meeting not five minutes after giving her one of his patented wake-up calls, ensuring that she would turn beet red every time Digg spoke to her.

Okay, now she can practically feel herself glowing in the dark. She ducks her head down so Oliver won’t see, but immediately picks it back up again when she hears a beeping from one of the monitors. She opens her mouth to call for his attention but he’s already there, leaning over her shoulder to read whatever information her search had brought up.

“What is it?” Digg asks, jumping up from his seat on the couch to make his way over to them.

“Looks like our guy booked a red-eye flight out of Starling City for later this evening,” Felicity responds, pulling up a map of the airport without having to be asked so they can start forming their plan of attack. She turns her face slightly to Oliver to tease him, “And you told me not to waste time doing a search on an alias he hasn’t used in ten years. _Psh._ Better make it a bottle of Cabernet for afterwards this time, feel free to surprise me with the brand. Also, is it bad taste to call the serial arsonist who used a fake name to escape the country ‘Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire’?”

Felicity looks at Oliver when he picks up her hand and brings it to his lips, giving it a lingering kiss. She can see some of his previous tension start to ebb away, the furrow between his brows start to relax…

Digg clears his throat. “Alright, alright, break it up before she starts blushing. You know how long it takes for her to calm down.”

Too late.

_End_


	2. Where You Can Grow into Your Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #2: In which Felicity just wants to do it with the lights on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read the last chapter! Hope you all enjoyed it!
> 
> The inspiration for this one-shot came from a t-shirt I saw in Skymall magazine. Also, it is somewhat crack-y, and then it gets somewhat angsty (honestly unintentional)... in essence, this is what happens when I try to study for the GRE on a plane and end up procrastinating instead. And to be completely honest, I’m still not sure if I even like what I wrote. It’s one of those pieces that makes me cringe every time I read it, but maybe that’s because I usually cringe at what I write. Apologies again for any mistakes and/or imperfections I may have made.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own CW’s Arrow... or Skymall Magazine.

The first time they had sex, Oliver turned the lights off.

During that moment, Felicity didn’t really notice as she was being preoccupied with more... pressing matters. But when she woke up in his arms the next morning and snuggled deeper into his chest, she meticulously replayed all the _amazingness_ that had happened the night before and distinctly recalled how, in between the nips to her jaw and his trailing fingers to places she had never realized were so sensitive, he had reached over to her lamp with his other hand and switched it off. That little event put a pause in her reminiscing, but then she had dismissed it, eagerly going through the rest of that night’s activities. And then he woke up, so she didn’t have to think about it anymore.

However, over the course of the week Felicity would wake up each morning, basking in the afterglow, only to remember that one little peculiarity: Oliver always turned off the lights. It wasn’t until a week and a half later when they are at the Foundry and she is watching him do push-ups with one arm (and making her think of other certain activities that could be done in such a way) that she comes to the most upsetting realization: she has never seen Oliver completely naked! He always turns off the lights before he got undressed!

Sure, sure, she has been able to feel him in all his glory and such, but after three years of fantasizing, she just wants to see the real deal. After all, what was the point of sleeping with Oliver Queen if you didn’t get the chance to ogle him without feeling like a creeper?

Oliver finishes his push-ups and Felicity quickly turns back to her monitors, half hoping he hadn’t noticed.

Okay, maybe you can still feel like a creeper (who still uses the word ogle anyway?) And there’s definitely more to their relationship than just sex (although if the past couple of weeks are any indication, it would seem their relationship is pretty sexy, and that’s totally fine with her... really fine).

Felicity glances back at Oliver and sees him wiping himself off with a towel, traveling first over his shoulders, down his stomach, then around to the small of his back and up again.

Alright, if she has to sum up her feelings into a soy nutshell, she will have to say she feels _cheated_. Really, it’s just not fair that she doesn’t get to enjoy _all_ of the perks that come with being Oliver Queen’s girlfriend... not that she isn’t enjoying other perks that come...

“Felicity, are you feeling okay? You’re looking a little flushed.”

Felicity jumps, not expecting Oliver to be standing over her shoulder and... smirking?

She turns back to her computers and says quickly, “Fine, just fine! Peachy-keen, jelly bean!”

Oliver lets out one of his little huffs, the one that means he’s amused with her, and leans down to drape an arm over her shoulder and presses his lips to her cheek. “Good. Then let’s go home.”

She briefly melts at his use of the word “home”, knowing he’s referring to her apartment and that it wouldn’t be “home” without each other. His lips move to her neck and then she melts for an entirely different reason when she realizes what they’ll be doing when they get home—

And then she gets upset all over again! Honest to goodness, if she doesn’t get to do it with the lights on tonight...

* * *

 

He tosses her onto the bed and he’s on her before she can even bounce twice. So far everything is going _very_ well, until she sees his arm reach towards the lamp at the right side of the bed. As predicted, he turns it off, and then she feels him pull back briefly to take off his shirt.

Holding him close with one arm and trying to make her lips as distracting as possible, she uses the other arm to turn the lamp back on. She feels him hesitate for the briefest second before reaching out and turning off the light again.

She pulls his bottom lip between her teeth and thinks, _Gotcha_. Now she knows his intentions are to keep the lights off, but she has no idea as to why. Does he not want her to see him? Is he insecure? For goodness’s sake, she thinks it’s weird when he puts a shirt _on_. And in a fleeting moment of doubt and sadness, she thinks, _does he not want to see me?_

Refusing to let herself go down that road (because she already has, many times, but she’ll be darned if she keeps thinking like that while he’s reverently caressing every part of her), she lifts her hand again and turns on the light. This time he noticeably pauses and breathes a soft growl of frustration against her lips before turning the light off.

She’s being driven crazy in two ways: one by Oliver’s superbly talented mouth, and the other by this fixation Oliver has with keeping the lights off.

Felicity Smoak hates mysteries. But she thinks she knows how to solve this one.

So, this time, Felicity attempts to stealthily turn the lamp back on. But Felicity’s version of stealth doesn’t really compare with Oliver’s version, as is evident by the way his hand stealthily darts out and grabs her wrist before she even touches the lamp, pinning it above her head. She then tries to use her other hand, again stealthily... but that doesn’t work either and now she has both hands pinned above her head.

She struggles for a moment, her mind still on the lamp, but then he growls again, this time her name, so she knows he means business. Oliver’s hands tighten on her wrists and his mouth finds her nipple, and now her mind doesn’t know why she’s thinking of a stupid _lamp_. Then he’s inside her using a pace that’s bit rougher than usual, and she has no idea why she was so fixated on the lights in the first place since Oliver has no trouble with making her see stars anyway...

When it’s over, Oliver is slumped over on top of her, their chests heaving in time. She doesn’t realize her wrists are still pinned until he releases them and moves to the right to lie beside her. She decides to give him a moment, and then because she can’t help it:

“So, uh... you like doing it in the dark, huh?”

She hears him let out a half sigh, half laugh before continuing, “I mean, that’s cool. We all have our preferences. I just never pegged you for the shy type considering, you know, the whole training shirtless in front of me before we started dating thing. And I’ve always heard it’s the woman in the relationship who insists on keeping the lights off. Not that I’m calling you a woman... nor would I call you a woman in an insulting way. I’m a woman, as you obviously know by now, and there’s nothing wrong with being a woman. You would be very fortunate to be a woman... but I wouldn’t be fortunate if you were a woman, since I don’t swing that way. Not that there’s anything wrong with swinging that way. Again, preferences…”

She can practically feel him stare at her, and who knew the weight of a stare was ten times worse in the dark? She counts down from three and then reaches across him to turn on the light.

He grabs her hand as it slides across his chest and says, “Seriously?”

She sighs. “Oliver. Why do you want the lights off?”

“Why do you want the lights on?”

“Because I finally have a hot boyfriend and I’m kinky like that.”

He sighs and laughs again, but with a little more laugh, and he releases her hand. She continues to reach over him and _finally_ turns the light on.

She sits up to face him and sees that his lower half is under the covers. His face is turned away from her and his hands are slowly rubbing up and down his thighs.

Ah.

She puts her hands over his to stop them from moving and cranes her neck so that she can make eye contact.

“Oliver,” she says again gently, “I know that there’s a lot you still feel like you can’t tell me about the island. And that’s fine, I get it. But you should know: every time I look your scars, I don’t see them as ugly or scary. I see them as strength, courage, and perseverance. And even though I can’t imagine all the horror and pain you’ve been through when you got those scars, I think it’s possible you feel like they’ve… dehumanized you.”

Oliver sucks in a shuddering gasp and closes his eyes, and she can feel her own eyes welling up with tears. Oh, if only she knew the names of the people who hurt him (if they were still alive), and all the ways she would use her tablet to make them _suffer_ for hurting him.

But she doesn’t know their names, and she figures she never will, so she straddles his lap and brushes a kiss against his forehead, his cheek, his eyelids. “You’re not any less of a man, Oliver. If anything, you’ve had to change into an even greater man to survive all you’ve been through, and I love you for it. I love everything about you, and no imperfections that you think you have is going to change that.”

He crushes her against him; his face buried in her neck and she just holds him for a little while, smoothing a hand through his hair occasionally. Then he gently shifts her off of his lap, takes a deep breath, and lowers the covers…

His legs and thighs are littered with as many scars as his torso, if not more. She recognizes stab and bullet wounds, but there are countless others that she has no idea how they were inflicted, and she doesn’t want to know.

He seems pretty anxious, so instead of going over his body and trying to heal each bad memory with a kiss like she really wants to, she instead curls up against his side and holds his hand, giving him the time he needs to get comfortable in his own skin again.

Besides, if she has her way, she’ll have plenty of time later in their relationship to worship his body.

She’s not sure how much time has passed, but when he presses his lips to the top of her head and says, “Thank you,” she thinks he’s a little bit better now.

She smiles. “No, no, thank _you_.”

He laughs, and her smile gets bigger.

She runs a finger over the tattoo on his chest and says, “You know, I always I thought scars are cooler than tattoos anyway. And you know how much I love tattoos.”

He laughs again, shaking his head slightly, “I actually don’t know how much you love tattoos.”

She sits up to look at him. “Really? Huh. Well, I think tattoos are pretty darn sexy. This one guy I dated in college was _covered_ , but my favorites were the one on his fingers because whenever we had sex—“

She doesn’t get to finish because Oliver tackles her and lays a kiss on her that makes her completely lose her train of thought.

When he pulls back he has a mischievous glint in his eye and he glances at the lamp.

“Oliver Queen, you turn that light off and I will get you drunk one night and make you get finger tattoos.”

“What would they be of?” he asks with a kiss to her neck.

“Arrows, of course. And maybe computer wires on the other hand.”

He gives her a big smile and says, “You really are kinky, aren’t you?”

She blushes again, but says anyway, “Only one way to find out.”

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shirt in the Skymall magazine said: “Scars are like tattoos but with better stories.” Only, I’m sure all of the stories of Oliver’s scars are extremely painful and depressing, so they wouldn’t necessarily be better. 
> 
> Also: I use the word “ogle” all the time.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Oh, Dare I Say the Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #3: In which Felicity is insecure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Once again, many thanks to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos! I greatly appreciate the support!
> 
> This one is for quisinart4, who asked for a story that delves a bit deeper into Felicity’s insecurity I mentioned briefly in the last story. Quisinart4: still probably not what you were looking for, but I hope you still like it all the same! Thanks again for your encouragement and shared enthusiasm for established relationship fics! :)
> 
> WARNING: I’ll tell you right off the bat that no major characters die, but this story’s subject does revolve around cancer and contains a few tacky, self-deprecating jokes about the matter. None of it is meant to be offensive or insulting; there is absolutely nothing funny about cancer. But that being said, I come from a family that has had its fair share in battling the disease, and we’ve all learned that laughing about it can sometimes be the least painful way to live through it.
> 
> I apologize for any mistakes or imperfections, or any overall annoyances. This was really tough for me to write. It’s pretty heavy on the dialogue, and my Oliver Voice needs work, but I tried to keep it as in character as possible. Also: tenses are tricky mofos.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own CW’s “Arrow” or WE ARE TWIN’s “The Way We Touch”

Felicity slams the door to her apartment and practically throws her keys at the coffee table before marching into her bedroom. She strips off her shirt and bra and faces her mirror to inspect the red marks still remaining from the mammogram screening. She gently prods at one mark, grimacing at the soreness. 

She glares at her reflection. “Not cool, boobs. Not cool.” 

She hears the apartment door open and his “Felicity?”, and scrambles to put her shirt back on. But he’s a ninja and she only manages to hold the shirt to her chest before he suddenly appears in her bedroom doorway. 

“Don’t you knock?” 

“I thought that’s why you gave me a key to your apartment. So I don’t have to knock.” 

He rakes his gaze over her state of dress and slightly narrows his eyes, and she doesn’t know if it’s the “Why aren’t you completely naked?” look, or the “You’re acting weirder than normal, and I’m going to find out why” look.

“It’s the latter look. You need to tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

She sighs, doing her own appraisal of his appearance: rolled-up sleeves, unloosened tie, folded arms. He must have come straight from QC.

She tries giving him a smile to stop his frown from growing deeper, but even she can feel it not reach her eyes. “I told you last night, I’m just not feeling very well. I think it’s one of those 24-hour cold things. Both Tracy and Richard in accounting had it last week, I probably just got it from one of them.” 

He continues to stare at her with his intense I-can-see-into-your-soul Arrow gaze, and she tries smiling again. 

Nope, still not working.

He tosses his suit jacket onto her dresser by the door, but after giving him a look of her own he quickly removes it. She walks over to the same dresser, trying not to notice for the millionth time their synchronized domesticity when he steps out of her way so he can hang his jacket in her closet and she grabs one of his t-shirts and a pair of jeans he keeps in the top drawer. She tosses him his clothes and pulls on one of her pajama sets. She’s going to need to be comfortable when they have this conversation…

He changes into the shirt and jeans, and walks over to sit on her bed. He gives her an imperceptible nod and she slowly makes her way over to sit next to him.

He moves to take her hands in his own, but with a shake of his head he instead leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and turns his head to look at her. She fidgets under his gaze for a good minute before he finally speaks. “It’s more than just a 24-hour thing, Felicity. You’ve been avoiding me for a whole week.”

She tenses, upset with herself that she wasn’t able to hide from him without him noticing (who was she kidding? The man’s night job is to hunt down people _in hiding_ ).

She tries to argue anyway but he doesn’t let her, “For the past several days you’re up and ready to go before I’m even awake; you’ve had lunch meetings with the assorted administrative staffs every day; you get to the Foundry after I’m already out on patrol; you get home before I do and _pretend_ to be asleep when I get in.” 

When he pauses to unclench his jaw, she tries to protest again but he silences her with another look. “And now today you called in sick, even though I know you haven’t started your cold medicine routine.” 

She softens considerably at the fact that he knows her so well that he’s aware of how she takes care of herself when she’s sick. She realizes at this point there’s no sense in waiting any longer in telling him.

She leans forward to thread her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Oliver. You’re right; I have been a little distant lately, but that’s only because I was trying to figure out what to say. I just wanted to say things right for once. You know my tendency of making a mess out of things with my mouth- _Oh, my god_ , like that right there.” 

She folds herself over so she buries her head in her lap and hears Oliver let out a weak chuckle. She continues to speak, her voice muffled, “Honestly, I had a whole speech prepared that I was going to tell you tomorrow. You can’t just wait one more day?”

“That depends. Is your speech about breaking up with me?”

She sits up so fast she gets a head rush. “I- _What?_ ”

He keeps his gaze on his folded hands with a small, sad smile on his lips, “Don’t forget: I’ve broken up with countless women before (and after) the island. This scenario looks all too familiar to me. I know what it means when a person starts creating distance in a relationship.”

Felicity can’t take anymore, and takes his face in her hands so he’ll look at her, “No, no, no, no, no, I am absolutely _not_ breaking up with you.” She moves forward so she can press a sweet, urgent kiss on his lips, and with that she feels him relax.

But, of course, because she’s Felicity Smoak and she needs to prepare whole speeches before saying anything else ever again, she says, “Although you might be breaking up with me after what I’m going to tell you.”

With that, he completely pulls away from her and stands up to start pacing. “ _Felicity_. Tell me what’s wrong _right now_.”

“Okay, okay… I just…” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, not wanting to see whatever range of emotions she knows will be playing across his face in a few seconds. “Last week, I found a few lumps in my left breast. I called out sick today because I had an appointment for a mammogram.”

The room is still and she’s not sure what to make of it, but she refuses to open her eyes because she doesn’t want to see the look that is on Oliver’s face. She refuses to see the man she loves look at her with pity.

She feels the bed dip beside her and suddenly she’s being pulled into his arms. She turns into his body instinctively, tucking her face into his neck so she can breathe in his scent.

They’re pressed so closely together that his strained voice rumbles into her body, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugs, the movement made awkward because of their proximity. “I don’t really know. Part of it really was because I didn’t know what to say. If this was even worth saying. It’s entirely possibly that I don’t even have cancer, and I didn’t want you worrying needlessly. Goodness knows you worry about plenty of other things.”

He lets out a huff, “I think this is worth worrying about more than any low-life scum out there.” She acknowledges his statement with a nod and he continues, “When do you find out your results?”

“In a few days. But see, that’s what I really need to talk to you about. Because even though the lumps can turn out to be benign, there’s still a very big chance that we can end up in this situation again and again and again.”

He pulls back to give her his look that says “explain”.

So she does: “My family… a lot of my relatives have been diagnosed with cancer. My grandfather died of colon cancer, my cousin of leukemia. I have a few female cousins on both sides who have breast cancer. So you see… it kind of runs in the family. Because of that, I’ve been told that I have a higher risk in getting diagnosed than most people. I just wasn’t expecting to have to go through this so soon. Then again, a lot of people don’t expect it. _No one_ expects it.

“So, now that I’ve pretty much forgotten my big speech because you’re so _impatient_ ”, she ignores his huff, “I’ll give you the cliff notes version: I’d have told you that I have personal experience in seeing someone I love suffer through cancer, and I’d never wish that heartache on someone I love. I’d have told you that cancer is never pretty, and I know that if I were diagnosed I would never be the same, physically or emotionally. And I just… I want to you protect you from that.”

“Felicity, you don’t need to protect me from anything-“

“Wait, you have to let me finish before I have a complete meltdown and become incoherent. Now, where was I?”

He grits through his teeth, “You want to protect me.”

“Right. I want to protect you from this stupid, awful, ugly _thing_. I want to give you a choice: if I do end up having cancer, I want you to know that I’ll understand if you want to call things off.”

“ _WHAT_ -“

“Shush! This isn’t something you can fight, Oliver. Cancer isn’t the island or Malcolm Merlyn or some other psycho threatening Starling City. This is something I have to face without your arrows. And if you feel like that’ll be too much for you, too much baggage for you worry about or to put up with, then I understand if you want to break up. But I think you should do it soon, probably before I get diagnosed, because you dumping a girl with cancer will not do your reputation any favors.”

His jaw drops, and she thinks that’s the first time she’s ever seen that happen. “But you should also do it sooner rather than later, because if you change your mind and I’m in the middle of chemo and I get a text from you saying ‘I think we should see other people’… well, I’ll tell you, it won’t be the cancer that kills me.”

He’s silent for a great deal of time, just staring at the wall in front of him, his jaw clenching and unclenching. _Great,_ she thinks, _I broke Oliver Queen._

Then he speaks, low and slow, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do right now. Part of me wants to shake you because you’re a fool to think I would ever willingly leave you.”

“Hey now, didn’t I just finish talking about maintaining your image? Shaking a girl with cancer would definitely ruin it.”

“Felicity.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, now’s not the time to be making cancer jokes… not that there’s ever a time to make cancer jokes. There’s nothing funny about cancer. From now on I’ll be dead serious.”

“ _Felicity_.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t control it! It’s like some useless defense mechanism.”

“And the other part of me wants to pull you into my arms and do whatever it takes to convince you that I’m not going anywhere.”

“… I like that part. Much better than the shaking. Go with that part.”

He sighs, taking his hand in hers and making sure she’s looking at him before continuing. “Listen to me very carefully. I love you. And despite whatever hyper-analytical, over-rational thinking you’ve got going on in your head right now, I will keep loving you until you finally realize I’m no good for you-”

“Oliver-”

“-and even after that, I’ll keep on loving you. Because you’re it for me. And as long as you’re willing to put up with me, you’re stuck with me. I want to be with you for _everything_ , the good and the bad, because there’s no one else I’d rather be with. Only you can send me away.”

For once she’s speechless, silenced by the tears in her eyes and the love in his.

He clears his throat, “But especially for something like this… please don’t send me away.”

She completely loses it at that, gasping in hiccupping sobs. He pulls her onto his lap and into his arms, and she mumbles into his shoulder, “Oh, Oliver, I would never send you away.” She takes a deep breath to calm herself, “Who else would laugh at my cancer jokes?”

She feels him try to hold in a snort of laughter before pressing his lips to the top of her head.

They remain like that for a few moments before Oliver loosens his hold to look at her again. “Hey…” he starts, but is suddenly unable to look at her and avoids her gaze, “I… have something for you.”

She gives him one of her looks, but then realizes he’s still staring at the carpet so she confirms, “Just so you know, I’m giving you my ‘What have I told you about giving me random presents?’ look.”

This time he laughs softly and returns his eyes to hers. “Right, well, I’ve had this present for a while… and I just… well, maybe it’ll prove to you how committed I am to this relationship.”

He sets her aside and stands up to get his coat. He reaches into the inside pocket, pulling out a small square box.

Felicity jumps up from the bed and leaps halfway across the room from him, and she doesn’t realize she’s saying anything until the white noise in her head stops. “WHOA! Whoa, wait, stop, is that- what are you- you can’t- I mean, do you- you just… carry around a ring box in your jacket pocket? Like no biggie? How long have you been carrying it around? Is that even for me?”

“Felicity.”

“Right, so it is for me… Right now? I mean, you’re seriously doing this right now? I might have cancer! And we’ve only been dating for six months!”

“But you’ve been my best friend for five years.”

“Stop it! Stop making me cry!”

As if he couldn’t take the distance between them anymore, he crosses to her and gathers her into his arms again. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you cry. I picked this ring up a month after we started going out, but really wasn’t planning on asking you until our one-year anniversary. I knew that if I proposed any sooner, you’d freak out. Like you’re doing right now.”

She pushes out of his arms and glares at him, “I am _not_ freaking out. This is the appropriate response when you find out your boyfriend slash boss slash vigilante hero has been carrying around an _engagement ring_ for five months, but still feels like he has to wait another _six_ before actually _proposing_! Do you know how crazy that is? Wait, of course you do, you freaking do parkour at two in the morning in green leather and hunt down terrorists with _arrows_. You are the epitome of crazy!”

He waits her out with that stupid amused smile of his and, after she takes a few deep breaths, she nods her head and he continues, “So, now it’s my turn to be over analytical: I decided to propose now because if we do get married and, God forbid, you do become diagnosed with cancer, you won’t have to worry about finding the money to pay for your cancer treatments.”

“Oliver, I’m not going to marry you so you can pay for my cancer treatments.”

“So don’t. Marry me because you love me.”

“You just don’t… so, what? We get married, fine-“

“Well, I’m hoping it’d be more than ‘fine’.”

“-but what if I do get cancer, huh? And I get really, _really_ sick and-“

“Don’t say it.”

“-the worst happens. What then? You’ll be all alone, and sad, and more broody than usual. And hurting. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Felicity, you forcing me away, that’s what will hurt me.”

They stare at each other, and she knows they’re thinking of the same exact thing. The same conversation they had six months earlier, when she finally convinced him to take a chance and move forward with their relationship. The same thing she said to him when he told her he didn’t want her to get hurt because of the life he leads.

_“It’s not the life you lead that will hurt me, Oliver. It’s me not being in your life.”_

She lets out a long sigh and relaxes her tense stance. Oliver relaxes as well, a hopeful glimmer in his eye.

“I’ll accept your proposal on one condition: the mammogram results show negative for cancer.”

Oliver tenses again slightly, not happy with her answer. “You’re sure about that? You haven’t even seen the ring yet.”

She smiles, “I don’t need to see the ring. I’d marry you if you proposed with a ring pop. Actually, that sounds delicious.”

“And what if the stone was black onyx and as big as your thumb?”

“Then I’d ask you for the ring pop.”

He shakes his head, “You’re just going to leave me hanging, huh?”

“Cool your jets, Turbo. You’ll get your results as soon as I get mine.”

* * *

 

A few days later, Felicity gets her results and breaks the news to Oliver in the Lair by proposing to him on bended knee with a ring pop.

She’s pretty sure she hears Digg come down the stairs at one point, sigh, and then go back up the stairs, but she can’t bring herself to care because she loves how Oliver’s kisses now taste like blue raspberry.

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, probably OOC at some points, but for some reason when I try to write Oliver’s lines, I really can’t think of anything coughcoughexceptabscoughcough
> 
> So yeah, hopefully it wasn’t too terrible. Thanks so much for reading! I’d love to know what you think, if you’d be so inclined!


	4. You Got Me on a Hook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felicity feels like she can tackle the salmon ladder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks so much again to everyone who read and commented, as well as leaving kudos and adding this fic to their bookmarks. I appreciate the support!
> 
> Shout-out to loved in shades of wrong who actually wrote a drabble a couple of weeks ago on her tumblr that deals with an uncannily similar storyline. I actually had no idea until after I wrote this fic, but I asked her if she wouldn’t mind if I posted this story, and of course she was awesome about it, as always :) I highly recommend you check out her tumblr and read her work, if you haven’t done so already. She’s got this massive drabble list going on right now, all based on prompts she receives from others, and each one is full of Olicity goodness. It can all be found here: lydiasmarties (.) tumblr (.) com
> 
> Thanks again to loved in shade of wrong (she’s all kinds of wonderful) for fixing my typos. Any other mistakes, annoyances, etc., you find are all mine.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own CW’s “Arrow” or WE ARE TWIN’s “The Way We Touch”.

Felicity always felt like Oliver had impeccable timing when it came to saving her life. Like that one time they were undercover and she had to break into Nick Santini’s office to retrieve some data from the computer (which was a little too encrypted for even a crime lord’s standards, but they ended up looking into that later anyway…). And when she rounded the corner to make her escape, two of Santini’s goons had their guns pointed straight at her head. But not a moment later Oliver dropped from the ceiling and landed on top of them, knocking them out and ushering her to safety. 

Or like that other time, not even Arrow related, when she was just driving out of the QC parking lot and a driver had run a red light. Her car was pinned between the other car and a streetlight and she couldn’t even move when Oliver crashed through her rear window, and jimmied the door open from the inside. She still can’t quite remember how he managed to squeeze in and pull her out, all before the light had collapsed on top of the two cars. The next thing she knew, she was laying in the street beside Oliver, some distance away from the wreck, both trying to catch their breaths.

Yes, Felicity always had faith in Oliver’s ability to swoop in when she needed him most.

Except right now.

As of right now, Felicity has been hanging from the top rung of the salmon ladder for the past ten minutes, holding on for dear life and seriously considering the validity of jedi mind tricks in willing Oliver to appear in the Foundry right… _NOW!_

… Nope, still not working.

Felicity curses herself for the millionth time, knowing it was her own stupid fault for getting in this mess in the first place. Someone must have slipped something into all four of her coffee drinks that day to make her honestly believe she could do the salmon ladder workout.

But in all fairness, she really is much stronger than she was when she first joined the team three and a half years ago. A few days ago, she just realized that thanks to solid training every night with Diggle (and sometimes Oliver when Diggle was otherwise occupied) she could keep up with approximately seventy-five percent of the boys’ workout. She’s been so impressed with her progress that when she walked into the Foundry on her own that day and glanced up at the ladder like she normally does, she thought to herself, _I bet I can do that now_ and immediately changed into her tank top and yoga pants.

She bet wrong.

Or rather, she bet correctly that she was able to complete a full set of the salmon ladder (albeit a bit more slowly than it’s usual participants), but she was wrong in assuming that when she was finished she’d be able to get down.

“Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ,” she mumbles to herself, because Oliver _still_ hasn’t shown up and she’s pretty sure her right arm has gone numb, “How could you forget you’re still afraid of heights?”

When she got to the top, she had to stop herself from doing a fist pump. She gave herself a few seconds to feel pride, and then remembered how people get down from the top of the salmon ladder.

They jump.

Felicity looked down, hoping for a soft spot to land, and then promptly thought, _Shit._

Then Felicity thought that maybe she could do some sort of reverse salmon ladder exercise. Just go down the way she got up. But then that’s really almost the same as jumping ( _re: falling_ ) but having to aim for the next peg at the same time, and she’s never been good at aiming. Or falling.

_It’s okay. Calm down. Oliver or Diggle will be here soon, and they’ll get you down. Somehow._

Flash forward to ten minutes later, and Felicity’s still hanging out by herself.

Freaking literally. So much for Oliver’s sixth sense when it comes to saving her life.

She hears the door open and immediately sends a prayer of thanks to jedi mind tricks and sixth senses.

“Hello? Oliver?”

“Felicity?” Oliver makes it down the stairs, already looking towards her usual spot in front of her computers and a confused expression graces his features.

“Um, up here.”

He looks up and does a double take, and she has to stop herself from smiling when his jaw drops.

Will today’s wonders never cease?

They stare at each for a few beats, and Felicity can’t believe she has to say it. “Are you going to help me down, or what?”

“Felicity,” he says with a smile, and Felicity knows that tone means he’s proud of her. “You got to the top.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” she retorts, intending it to sound sarcastic but the wobble in her voice ruins the effect.

He hears the tremble and asks, “How long have you been up there?”

“Oh, you know, about ten minutes. I just never get to see the Lair from this high up. I’m always down there, and I thought now that I’m here I might as well enjoy the view. Although the only view I have right now is this pile of what I’m sure is rat poop and I’ve been praying that the rat doesn’t come back to have another bowel movement anytime soon…”

“You’re afraid to jump.”

Normally, Oliver being so in tune with how she’s feeling gets her stomach full of butterflies, but right now when she’s barely hanging on and now she’s losing feeling in her left arm, too, and she’s pretty sure she sees something scurrying on a pipe a few yards away…

“Get me down. Now. Please. Where’s the giant ladder?”

“Giant ladder?”

“Yeah, you know, the giant ladder you used to install this thing in the first place.”

He shrugs, and Felicity’s stomach drops even further. “I have no clue. It’s probably around here somewhere, but it might take me a while to find it, and I don’t know how much longer you can hang on.”

Felicity’s arms shake as if to illustrate his point. “How can you misplace a giant ladder? It’s _giant_! How do you explain replacing the light bulbs in this place? And don’t you dare tell me you parkour your way up to the ceiling…”

Oliver seemingly ignores her as he does a quick survey of how he can reach her. He says resignedly, “I could ‘ _parkour_ ’ my way up there and get you.”

“Sounds like a flawless plan.”

“But we’d have to jump anyway, and I’m not too sure where or how we would land. I’ve never gotten down with another person, who knows what the extra weight will do to our direction.”

“ _Fuck_ you, ‘extra weight’.”

He grins, but quickly schools his features. “I’m afraid your only option is to let go. I’ll catch you.”

Definitely not an option. “Oliver, I’ve seen you leap off of a five story building into a second story window of the adjacent building, all with what must be twenty pounds of gear and leather. I’m sure your direction won’t be too affected in dropping _straight down.”_

“I don’t know,” he says with that stupid smirk, “We could be putting your computers in harm’s way, and I don’t want you getting mad at me if we accidently land on them and break everything.”

She hesitates briefly, and Oliver can barely contain his smugness. She tries again, “You could just move all of my stuff out of the way. Far away. Like to wherever you put the giant ladder."

Oliver shakes his head, “And risk unplugging them and rearranging your entire system? And maybe even lose something? I know how particular you are about your tech, I don’t think we should jeopardize anything.”

“ _Oliver,_ I swear to God- _”_

“Nope, looks like the only way for you to get down is to jump on your own.” He then holds out his arms at the ready, looking at her innocently.

Felicity closes her eyes and tries to calm down. She knows what he’s doing, _the bastard._ He’s trying to help her get over her fear of heights. That if he can show her she can jump once, she can do it again the next time she uses the salmon ladder.

After all they’ve been through, he knows that her acrophobia is the one thing she still struggles with. No matter how infuriating he may be, the fact that he believes in her strength, both physical and emotional, shows the extent of their partnership and reminds Felicity of her trust in him. Even if it is in catching her from a twenty-foot fall.

“I jumped out of a plane for you, you know.”

“Then this should be a piece of cake.”

She opens her eyes and looks down at him. All traces of amusement are gone, and his expression is full of encouragement and patience, as if he could stand there under her all day with his arms out, waiting to catch her.

Great, now she’s thinking about what else he could be doing under her, and this is totally not the time.

“No, it’s not, but if you jump down right now then we can make the time.”

Her eyes widen, his words shocking her out of being embarrassed by what she just said. They’ve been going back and forth for the past couple of months, both hinting at wanting something more than friendship, but neither brave enough to make the first move.

She guesses now she accidentally made the first move, but he pretty much just admitted to being amenable, so she’ll have to give herself a pat on the back if she gets down from the ceiling.

When. _When_ she gets down from the ceiling. Because now that Oliver has finally revealed he wants something more, and is _willing_ for something more, she’s going to fall into his arms and never let him go, gosh darn it.

“C’mon, Felicity,” he calls out gently. “Come to me.”

She takes in a deep breath and nods. Another deep breath, “Okay. Okay. Ready?”

“Always.”

She closes her eyes again and whispers to herself, “ _Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay!”_

She lets go of the bar on her last okay, screaming all the way down and letting out an “ _oomph_ ” when she lands in his arms. She finally opens her eyes to see him grinning at her.

“My hero,” she tells him shakily.

Still holding her close, he responds, “I thought you would never come down.”

She lets out a steadying exhale. “Yeah, well, my arms were getting tired.”

“Mm.” He leans forward and brushes his lips across her forehead, which makes Felicity feel grateful for him not kissing her on the lips instead. Even though she’s fantasized many times about their first kiss taking place after some life-threatening situation and being full of passion and unquenchable desire, she certainly didn’t imagine nearly peeing herself beforehand. So she can deal with forehead kisses. For now.

He sets her down on wobbly legs, keeping an arm around her to steady her. “How about we take the night off and grab dinner? Seems like you’ve seen your fair share of adventure tonight.”

“I don’t know, now that I’ve gotten a taste for the salmon ladder, you might never be able to stop me from doing it again.”

“Really?”

“Hell no. Let’s get dinner.”

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I’ve never really thought about, which is how I came up with this idea, is how the hell they get down from the salmon ladder when they get to the top? We never really see anyone get down (really, we’re already watching the most important part when Oliver uses it) but then I think there were a few times when Oliver and/or Sara would jump down, and I thought, “Felicity would probably never try it. She’s afraid of heights.” And then I made her do it anyway, because what’s the point of writing fanfiction if you can’t have a little merciless fun with the characters… right? No? Just kidding? Okay, don’t mind me and my sadistic tendencies…
> 
> Anywho, I’d love to know you all think! Thanks!


	5. I Feel It in My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #5: In which Felicity has a headache, and Oliver's rockin' bod is the cure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read and left kudos! And special thanks again to everyone who commented on the last chapter! I sincerely appreciate the kind words!
> 
> This… this is probably the crackiest thing I’ve written so far. I blame my migraines.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own CW’s “Arrow” or WE ARE TWIN’s “The Way We Touch”.

Felicity’s pretty sure her current state makes the Top Ten Weird Felicity Moments According to Oliver Queen. Maybe not the Top Five (the Great Mystery of the Missing Birthmark was _way_ weirder) but definitely the Top Ten. And she can’t tell because she’s not looking at him, but she’s positive he’s standing over her with a mixed expression of bemusement and bafflement.

But she can’t bring herself to care because her head feels like it’s about to burst at any moment.

She hasn’t moved from the position Oliver found her in when he walked into the Lair a few moments ago: she’s hunched over her desk, her forehead pressing down into the cold metal, eyes closed, shoes and glasses off, and her fingers are massaging small circles at either side of her temples.

He clears his throat to get her attention and she immediately shushes him: “Shh… too loud.”

“Sorry,” he gently whispers, and she feels his hand rubbing softly cross her back, “Are you okay?”

She whimpers, “No. I still have this stupid migraine that I woke up with and medicine is not working. I didn’t think it could get any worse, but the universe loves to prove me wrong, so now it’s definitely worse. Stupid universe.”

He presses his lips to the top of her head. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“Got any magical island tea that cures headaches?”

“Afraid not.”

She absolutely hears the bemusement in his voice, but then she feels his hands touch her temples and they mimic her massaging technique. She sighs, long and deep, as some of her pain is alleviated. “That’s okay. Your fingers are pretty magical.” Then she winces, and not because of the headache.

Apparently all’s fair in love and headaches, because Oliver teases, “So you keep telling me.”

“Stop. Not fair. My only means of defending myself is currently trying to kill me.”

She sits up to grant Oliver easier access ( _gah_ …) when the motion causes a painful rush and she sucks in a breath through her teeth.

“C’mon, you should be lying down,” Oliver tells her and grasps her shoulders to gingerly lift her out of her chair.

He leads her to the couch against the wall opposite of the stairs when she protests, “But you can’t deprive me of your fingers. Shut up.”

He unsuccessfully tries to hold in a chuckle and concedes. He lies down on the couch and then gestures for her to lie down on top of him.

“Uh, yeah, that’ll work.”

She sprawls out across him and, remembering what she read about how applying pressure can relieve headache pain, she rests the side of her head that hurts the most against his pectoral. She closes her eyes as his hand comes up to massage the temple not pressed against him, and his other hand resumes rubbing circles across her back.

“Any better?”

“Hmm,” but she realizes that Oliver is still in his dress shirt since he came straight from QC. “Are you comfortable? I’m sorry, I didn’t even give you a chance to change before I demanded you to heal me.”

She can hear the smile in his voice. “You didn’t demand anything- I don’t like you being in pain any more than you do.”

She feels her own lips turn up, acknowledging her low pain tolerance. “You can take off your shirt if you want.”

“Usually when a woman says she has a headache, it’s because she _doesn’t_ want her boyfriend to take off his shirt.”

She can’t help the snort that escapes her. “I doubt you’ve ever had that problem. But I did read on one of those medical advice sites that heat can also help with headache pain, and since you’re practically a furnace, it could be a win-win for both of us.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic,” he says, and gently moves her to the side so he can unbutton his shirt. She opens her eyes to watch the show and has never hated her brain more than in that moment for preventing sexy times.

When he gets his shirt off she falls back into place and notices she can hear his heart.  Normally loud noises are the devil when it comes to her migraines, but over the past months she’s become accustomed to falling asleep with his heartbeat in her ear, so it’s a sound that instantly soothes her.

But for some reason… Felicity slightly shifts her head up Oliver chest… no, back down a bit… maybe to the right?

Oliver notices her fidgeting and asks, “Everything okay down there?”

“I don’t know… I just can’t find a good place for my head.”

“You’ve never had that problem before.”

“I’ve never had a problem because I pretty much pass out from the complete and utter exhaustion after going three or four rounds with you. I don’t even _think_ about getting comfortable, I just collapse. And stop smirking.”

“How do you know I’m smirking?”

“Because our bond is too strong,” she retorts drily, upset that the pain in her head is preventing her from enjoying their banter like she usually does. She moves her head again to no avail. “I honestly never thought I’d say this, but I think, in just this instance, your muscles are too... bulgy.”

“That’s just the headache talking.”

“Yes, yes it is… what if you turned over?”

“... What?”

“Your body heat is helping, and the couch is too soft for applying pressure to my head, and I think your trapezius muscle will provide a smoother surface than your pectorals… and I’m still not making sense.”

“What about my magic fingers?”

“As much as I love your fingers, I think I’ll be okay with just your muscles.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look, we’ll just call Barry later and he can explain all this medical mumbo jumbo better than I can. But right now, Oliver, I need your body.”

“I’ve imagined you saying that under different circumstances.” The hand rubbing her back glides softly down to her hip and traces a circle around the side of her thigh.

She shivers involuntarily. “Later, I promise.”

They shift again, Oliver flipping onto his stomach with his head facing the stairs and Felicity lies down on top of him again, her head also turned in the same direction.

Felicity nuzzles her head into the right side of his back and lets out a contented sigh when she finally finds the perfect spot, her eyes drifting shut.

“Good?”

“Mmmm. You are the best vigilante boyfriend ever.”

He laughs, and she can’t help but giggle lightly when her head bobs along with his movements. She turns her head to place a kiss on his spine. “Thank you. Love you.”

“I love you,” his voice deeply rumbles in her ear, “Now rest.”

* * *

They’re in the same position an hour later, fast asleep, when John Diggle walks down the stairs. He pauses at the sight: Oliver is draped across the couch on his stomach, his left arm hanging down to the floor. Like with most everything else, Oliver’s body is a bit large for the couch, so his feet hang off of the opposite end. Felicity is also on her stomach and perched on top of him, her arms curled into her body as if trying to snuggle even deeper into Oliver’s back. Her head rises and falls with each breath Oliver takes. They’re both facing him, and he welcomes the sight of their serene expressions, even more so from Oliver. There was a time when Diggle thought his friend would never be able to relax, always having to be ready to face any mission, villain, or demon. The fact that Oliver hasn’t even shifted since Diggle walked in is testament to the fact that he is finally allowing himself the rest he deserves. If he had known all it would take was the love of one Felicity Smoak to help Oliver find his peace, John would have forced them together years ago. 

John shakes his head, grabbing the blanket they keep in the med area on his way over to them. He drapes the blanket over them and wonders how they got this way in the first place.

He shrugs and turns to leave the Foundry, deciding to come back in another hour or so. He’s certainly found them in a lot more compromising and embarrassing situations, but this definitely makes his Top Ten Awkward but Cute Olicity Moments.

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totes looked up images of Stephen Amell’s shirtless back… purely for research, I swear.
> 
> But the headache stuff is all me. From personal experience, I know that applying pressure to the head can help alleviate the pain, whether through massages or tying a towel around your head like a headband. And in terms of applying heat, I’ve never tried it, but I think that’s also in conjunction with alternating applying cold as well, so I fudged that bit a little. 
> 
> If you guys can think of any Felicity’s Top Ten Weird Moments to suggest, I could be convinced to write them- or you are more than welcome to write a weird moment of your own! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I’d love to know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone does end up looking for the song, please know that I totally consider Digg as the “marshall Mr. Davy”. Thank you very much for reading!


End file.
